


The case of the painter's tape killer

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Watson's Woes JWP 2018 stories [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Craft club killer, Gen, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 15:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15294087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: “Is hesniffingthe window?” Donovan asked, incredulous.John had difficulty believing she could still—after all these years—be surprised by anything Sherlock did, but he kept his own counsel and only shrugged in reply.





	The case of the painter's tape killer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okapi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/gifts), [Jolie_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolie_Black/gifts).



> Written for the Watson's Woes JWP 2018 ficathon prompt #13: The Blank Page. Your prompt today isn’t a prompt at all; it’s a “free square” or empty page you can fill with anything you like.
> 
> For okapi and Jolie_Black, who wanted more killer crafting.

“Where's his phone?” Sherlock demanded to the air in general. Donovan's new DS, whose name Sherlock hadn't bothered to learn yet, didn't reply; he only stared at the back of Sherlock's head with a hint of a fake polite smile, until Sherlock turned to face him.

“DS Khara,” the DS said in a slightly unfriendly tone John thought he might have convinced himself represented “friendly in a manner appropriate for the general public”.

Sherlock just stared back at him for a second before saying “What?” at the man.

“My name. If you're going to address me in the future, I'd appreciate if you'd use it. And don't order me about like your dog.” He pointed at John. “That's for him.”

Before John could let Khara know what he thought of that entirely unnecessary comment, Donovan butt in. “Only I get to order Khara around, Freak.” She ambled up, holding out an evidence bag containing a phone. When Sherlock reached for it, she pulled it back with a “no-no” waggle of her finger and a smirk. Sherlock only held out his hand and gave her a remarkably Mycroftian look that would have warned anyone who'd met Sherlock's brother, but as she hadn't it no affect on her.

“All in good time. You can take a _supervised_ look at it when SOCO's done.”

With a sigh that widened Donovan's smile a notch, Sherlock turned his attention to the body, slumped over his dining room table. The table was covered with dozens of parts destined to eventually be a model airplane. A bomber of some kind, perhaps a B-52 John thought, though he was no expert on pre-modern military aircraft.

While Sherlock examined the excessively orderly rows of plastic pieces and construction supplies, John turned his attention to the tall cupboards that lined one wall. Before he touched anything, he asked Khara, “SOCO done with these?” The man nodded, friendlier now that one of the outsiders had acknowledged his authority. A brief examination showed the cupboards were full of craft supplies, in meticulous order, stored in plastic containers by type and use of material: paints, adhesives and glues, papers of various types, an impressive array of knives and other cutting implements, and small sheets of thin plexiglass that John assumed were used to make custom display cases, based on the dozen or so encased models displayed on the bookshelves and hanging on the walls.

To John's complete lack of surprise, Sherlock followed along behind him, unwilling to trust John's observational skills. Standing in front of the middle cupboard, Sherlock grabbed a spray can off a shelf and stared at it as if transfixed for two seconds, before spinning around and examining the room as if seeing it for the first time.

John knew to get the hell out of the way as Sherlock charged past, almost knocking over the SOCO pathologist, Bartoli, as he strode to the far windows.

John joined Donovan in the calm centre of the room and they watched Sherlock examine the window sills and casements from a distance of about a centimetre.

“Is he _sniffing_ the window?” Donovan asked, incredulous.

John had difficulty believing she could still—after all these years—be surprised by anything Sherlock did, but he kept his own counsel and only shrugged in reply.

Sherlock ignored the “Hey!” of a SOCO tech and grabbed a chair, dragging it to the window, climbing up, and continuing his examination of the top of the window casements.

Khara joined John and Donovan, and John could tell the man was itching to comment. John reasoned that someone on Donovan's team would have warned Khara about Sherlock by now, so he doubted the man really needed to ask what the hell was going on.

When he was done, Sherlock turned to the three of them, closed his magnifying glass with a satisfied _snick_ and proclaimed “Murder” as he jumped down to the spot just in front of John.

“Yeeesss,” Donovan drawled. “That's why you're here.”

Sherlock ignored her sarcasm and began to pace between them and the corpse. “Toxicology will tell us that Todd—” Sherlock waved at the corpse. “—died of respiratory failure brought on by excessive inhalation of this.” He grabbed the spray can from where he'd left it on the bookcase.

“How?” Donovan replied. “He looks like he knew what he was doing with this stuff. And if there was enough to kill him in here we'd have smelled it when we came in.”

“The room's been vented by murderer since. The victim was likely already using this—note the empty spot in the middle of the table and there's no way someone with this degree of OCD would leave that there in the middle of his table. And based on the chemical component of this particular adhesive, he should only have been using it in a well-ventilated area.”

“I suspect the victim, despite his expertise, wasn't using appropriate protective equipment and so was already suffering some effects of the adhesive. The murderer saw this and took advantage, taping the windows to prevent any venting and released the rest of the can into the room until the victim was dead.”

“If all the gas is gone from the room, how can you tell anyone was using it at all?” Khara asked.

“This was found on a shelf in the bookcase.” At Donovan and Khara's blank stares, Sherlock added, with a note of frustration, “The only item in those three cupboards _not_ packed away in a plastic container, so obviously the murderer put it away, just not properly away, thinking no one would notice the significance. There's no way Todd would have left it just sitting on the shelf.

“And then there's the obvious, very recent taping of the windows to seal any gaps in the casements. While Todd over there was extremely OCD, he wasn't much of a housekeeper, and there's at least a year's worth of dust on those windows. Except where they were taped, probably with painter's tape—and judging by the crooked tape lines, not by Todd, so no it's not a suicide. The lack of dust where the tape was indicates little to no time has elapsed since the tape was removed. Which the murderer did to hide that it was a murder, and to open the windows to vent the gas out of the room.”

“Why? If he wanted it to look like an accident, why not leave the gas in the room?” Khara asked before either John or Donovan could. Annoying as the man was, John was becoming less and less surprised Donovan had him on her team.

“To establish a false time of death. You would expect the gas to dissipate naturally through the gaps in the window casements. Which means the murder happened today, not yesterday, as suggested by the lack of gas.”

“Okay, assuming all that _might_ be plausible—” Donovan asked, finally. “What's the motive?”

“Other than the boring, ordinary reasons people kill each other?” Sherlock crossed the room and picked up a cube-shaped plexiglass end table next to the sofa. “Whatever used to be in this.”

Now that he looked more closely at the plastic cube, John could see that one side was missing and around the opening were small dents in the plastic; it was actually one of the victim's display cases. “It used to hang on the wall.”

“Yes, John. Probably in his bedroom, as there are no empty brackets here, or sign any have been removed. So it was a favourite piece, or valuable and he didn't want people he didn't trust knowing he had it. Find out what was in this box and you've got your killer. Probably,” he conceded.

Donovan turned to Khara. “Jag, get his phone cracked, find out who his friends are, hobby clubs—”

“Craft clubs—” Sherlock interjected and he, John and Donovan shared a snicker. Donovan waved away Khara's confusion. “Find out who knows what's missing; ask them if they know who might have shown extra interest in it. Focus on people who know a lot about it or who might have known its value, collect-ability, that sort of thing.”

“Okay.” Khara held out his hand and Sherlock tossed him the spray can; Khara read the tiny print on the back, then with a “Huh” placed it in an evidence back and added it to the box of filed evidence bags.

“Craft club serial killer, Freak?” Donovan said to Sherlock.

He rubbed his hands together in obvious delight. “We can only dare to dream.”


End file.
